Page 21 of Destined Mate (Cross Creek Pack of San DeLain)

Chapter Twelve

Jerome

BY FENRIR, Wesley was his mate. His Fated mate. The knowledge slammed into him with the force of a rogue wave, toppling his emotions with its intensity and leaving him disoriented.

He had a Fated mate.

Jerome couldn’t wrap his mind around it, yet at the same time, it felt right, like something inside of him that had been out of place suddenly clicked into position.

His wolf was practically howling, urging him to go back, to run to Wesley and seal the bond, but Jerome forced himself to steady his breathing and think.

Everything was still so new, so fragile. His wolf didn’t care about all that, but Jerome did.

There was an overwhelming urge to surrender completely, to simply submit and let Wesley sink his teeth into him. His wolf was all for going belly up. Jerome… wanted that, but the past week had revealed the damage a poor alpha could inflict on him and his pack.

Wesley portrayed himself as a good wolf.

Jerome thought he was, because surely their god wouldn’t mate him to someone cold and cruel. He touched his lips once more, feeling the gentle, rhythmic pulse beneath his fingertips. The sensation was oddly soothing, a warm, persistent throb that brought a sense of comfort.

What else, he wondered, could Wesley make throb? His mind wandered through possibilities, each more intriguing than the last. Jeez. He was getting hard. Right. Better not go there or the entire pack house would know what he was thinking.

He hurried to the room he’d been held captive in and eased the door open, his heart racing as he stared inside.

In seconds flat he went from aroused to anxious.

His heart, which had been pounding with excitement, now thudded heavily with an uncomfortable tension. A chill crept over his skin, replacing the warmth of anticipation with a prickling unease.

The space felt both familiar and suffocating, a constant reminder of his ordeal. Without hesitation, he moved directly toward the shower. The sooner he got this done, the sooner he could get out of that room.

Plus, the clothes clung to his skin like a second, unwanted layer, their fabric too tight and too slick against his body, reminding him of how—he shuddered.

Nope. He wasn’t going there. He needed to wash away the remnants of the auction, the traces of what Elmer had planned for him. It wouldn’t come true now.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have nightmares about it, even if he’d known how it was all going to end. He was fortunate, unlike many others, and he knew that was going to be the reason he’d be plagued by nightmares.

That reminded him. What about the pack that bought him? What were they going to do about that ?

Jerome stripped down and turned on the water, letting it get hotter than necessary before stepping in. He closed his eyes against the steam and the rush of thoughts.

The challenge had been brutal. Quick, but brutal. Just like everything else under Elmer’s rule. Jerome didn’t feel bad that Elmer and his betas were dead. Not even a little bit. He called them rubbish, and that’s what they were.

He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to think clearly about the challenge as he washed. At first, Jerome believed Elmer would win because, holy hell, he’d been huge, just absolutely ginormous as a wolf.

But Wesley was faster than any wolf Jerome had seen. And white. He’d never seen a white wolf before. Much less seen an alpha’s third form. He’d heard some could do that, but he’d always assumed it was just an old wives’ tale. Li Li hadn’t been able to shift into that.

Was it a Fated mate thing?

But that made little sense. A tentative bond had started between them—yes, he had felt it—but until the bite was done, the bond was not completed.

Okay, maybe it was just a Wesley thing.

Or a thing Wesley’s pack could do. Who knew, and frankly, Jerome didn’t care how Wesley could shift into that monstrous third form, the air crackling with barely contained power. He could, which made Wesley an even more powerful alpha.

His alpha.

His wolf was ecstatic that Wesley was their mate, but Jerome was less sure. There was an undeniable pull toward Wesley, a magnetic attraction he’d never experienced with Li Li, and this unfamiliar sensation intrigued him.

The desire to roll in Wesley’s scent until he was covered in it was overwhelming, an instinctive need his wolf craved. When they were near each other, the air hummed with an electric intensity, almost as if nature itself acknowledged the bond forming between them.

Still, Wesley was new and unknown. Plus, things were kind of a mess right now, and Jerome wasn’t sure how to process any part of this. And after the last week, everyone was weak—some physically worn out, but others just emotionally spent from the never-ending stress.

Or lack of food.

He scrubbed shampoo into his hair as soapy water splashed around his feet and carried a bit of anger away with it. Once he rinsed his hair, he leaned his forehead against the tile wall and just… breathed.

Wesley really seemed like a good wolf. He already knew that Wesley would treat them better than the bastard who’d tried taking everything from Jerome.

It was evident in Wesley’s demeanor as he interacted with them. His calm and reassuring presence put everyone at ease. He hadn’t raised his voice or showed frustration toward the pack members he’d interacted with.

Instead, he’d treated each of them with respect and understanding.

It was the small gestures, like comforting Al, placing a hand on Henry’s shoulder, or letting Jerome know he could leave the room if he wished. The things they’d once taken for granted had now become significant, and wasn’t that sad?

Jerome shut off the water, then dried off. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he padded across the floor to the small wardrobe where his limited selection of clothing was stored.

One thing he was certain of. With Wesley being their new alpha? They’d be secure again because Wesley cared whether they lived or died or were happy or safe. Or loved.

Like how an alpha should.

Jerome dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans. He pulled them on quickly, eager to see Wesley again. He moved through the halls, following the scent of cedar to the other room.

Oh, that must be Wesley’s scent. Funny how he hadn’t gotten a hint of it until now. Had the blood and gore drowned it out? Oh well, it didn’t matter. He smelled it now and liked it a lot.

A waft of steam and a hint of cedar greeted him when he walked inside the guestroom Wesley was using. Jerome inhaled deeply as his gaze landed on Wesley standing quietly across the room.

He was dressed in worn jeans and a black t-shirt that stretched snugly over muscled shoulders. His blond hair was a damp, unruly mess framed around his face as he brushed it.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You didn’t get lost,” Wesley said with a wide grin.

Jerome chuckled. “I didn’t.”

His feet felt rooted in place for a moment longer than necessary, overwhelmed by an impulsive urge to close the distance between them.

Hell, why not? He crossed the room and held his hand out for the brush. Wesley’s slow smile made Jerome’s cock stiffen slightly. Damn, just a smile did that to him?

“Can I?”

“Brush my hair? Just so you know, you never have to ask.” Wesley handed the brush to Jerome. “I’ll always be all for it.”

The moment hung in the air between them, intimate and charged, as Jerome took the brush.

Wesley turned back, the faintest hint of color on his cheeks. Jerome admired the way Wesley’s hair fell like spun gold. He started gently, letting the brush glide through the damp strands.

He felt Wesley relax under his touch. The brushing became a rhythm—smooth strokes interrupted only by subtle sounds from outside: distant voices, a laugh, the TV playing. The world went on without them while they shared this moment.

“I’ve never had anyone do this for me before,” Wesley said softly.

Jerome didn’t answer but moved closer as he brushed Wesley’s hair, his hand gliding through the damp, golden hair with ease, untangling any knots.

He finished with one last stroke and laid the brush down on the dresser. His hands lingered at Wesley’s shoulders just long enough to feel him lean back against him.

“Well,” Jerome murmured. “Now you have.”

Wesley turned. “Thank you. That was….”

“Yeah, it was. But we do need to join the others now.”

“You’re right. Just a second.” Wesley braided his hair, then slipped on his shoes. “C’mon. Let’s see if those steaks are ready.”

Jerome led him to the kitchen. It didn’t bother him at all having Wesley at his back. Instead, it made him feel safe.

The smell of cooked meat drifted through the air long before they reached it.

“That smells good,” Wesley said.

“It really does, doesn’t it?”

Household noise spilled into the hallway—laughter mixed with sizzling meat and clattering dishes. All reminders of how life went on if given the opportunity and how things could suddenly change.

The room was bustling with activity—Henry flipped steaks on a stovetop grill while Al made salad. Several pack members were there, including Marcia and Lakisha. Jerome went to them and looked over both women immediately.

“I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you both.” He hugged them, then stepped back.

“We were worried about you too,” Lakisha said.

“They stripped us of our rank,” Marcia said.

“You are both betas, correct?” Wesley asked, inhaling deeply. “You smell like betas.”

“We were,” Marcia answered.

“Are,” Wesley said. “You are betas, and I would like for you to remain in that role if you wish. Same goes for you, Henry. Keith is the only beta who came with me.”

Marcia and Lakisha both nodded vigorously. “All the pack has talked about since everyone arrived was the challenge and you.”

“We felt the pack bond start,” Lakisha said. “Even though we were not there to see the challenge and your defeat of that asshole, the pack willingly formed a bond with you, so we did also.”

“Plus, Jerome accepted you. We all felt that,” Henry said, eyeing Jerome.

“There is a lot to talk about,” Wesley said. “And we shall do that as soon as we eat.”

Henry glanced over his shoulder and shot them a grin. “Hope you’re hungry!”

Wesley’s eyes widened slightly at the sheer number of steaks being prepared on the indoor grill. “Is there a steak left in a five-mile radius?”

“There are more being cooked outside, so probably not,” Lakisha said.

Al chortled cheerfully while unloading armfuls of plates onto the table. “We can’t have our new alpha starving on us.”

Jerome felt the energy in the room surge even higher, buoyed by newfound optimism. There would be time later for all the problems—but right now?

Right now, things were good.

Jerome made sure everyone had a plate full of food, a drink, silverware, and so on as pack members headed outside to where there were several picnic tables set up, along with a lot of patio furniture on a big deck out back. It was crowded but lively—relaxed in a way they hadn’t been lately.

He was taken aback when Wesley casually pulled him to a picnic table and presented a heaping plate of food. Wesley had fixed him a plate. An alpha had fixed an omega a plate. He couldn’t get over that.

The aroma of the meal wafted up, rich and inviting. On the plate, a thick, juicy steak lay. Beside it was a baked potato, its skin crisp and golden brown, with butter melting on top. A salad sat off to the side, along with a glass of water.

“I need you strong and healthy,” Wesley said low enough that only Jerome would hear. “Please eat.”

“Thank you for getting this for me.” Jerome fought to keep his voice even. Such a simple gesture, but it showed so much about the type of wolf Wesley was.

The deck was full of cheerful noise and laughter. Tension ebbed away with every bite of steak, every sound of happiness around Jerome. He stole a glance at Wesley, who sat comfortably beside him. Yeah, he could get used to this for sure.

“We should have dinner out here every night,” Lakisha shouted from across the deck.

“I’m not cooking like this every night!” Henry boomed back, grinning.

“Maybe on full moon night?” Keith asked. “Like, before the run? And five to seven of us volunteer each month, so Henry gets a break. It doesn’t have to be steak each time, either. I make a mean chili.”

Jerome managed a chuckle around his mouthful of food.

“I think we should do this,” Wesley called out. “As alpha, I would fund this, of course, if the pack is interested in setting up this tradition.”

“A tradition,” Jerome whispered, staring at Wesley.

“A new tradition for our new pack,” Wesley said.

There was a howl of approval.

“That sounds like a yes!” Smiling, Wesley answered with his own howl.